


I Feel A Sin Comin' On

by Madama_Flutterby



Category: The Lone Ranger (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Biting, Brothels, F/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madama_Flutterby/pseuds/Madama_Flutterby
Summary: A young prostitute spends a wild night with the notorious outlaw Butch Cavendish.(Butch Cavendish--The Lone Ranger, 2013 /OFC)





	I Feel A Sin Comin' On

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Butch Cavendish story.  
> The title comes from the Pistol Annies song.  
> The events take place in Colby, TX, about 2 years before the action in the film.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own The Lone Rangers or any of its characters. The only character I claim rights to is my OFC. So don't sue me.
> 
> This is pure smut. Hope you enjoy!

Rosemarie Quinn sat in her room, looking out the window and watching the coming storm. Thunder was already rumbling from far away, the sky growing dark with clouds when she saw the group of men on horseback, riding up to the Morning Star Inn, where she offered her services. One of them (the leader, based on his position at the front of the team) swung himself down from his saddle, striding first into the establishment as one of his men scrambled to catch the horse's reins.  
She was so caught up in the scene, in the man, that when the house bell rang, she jumped, startled. Moving reluctantly from the window, she went downstairs to stand among the other girls for selection.  
Madame (as the older lady in charge insisted she be called, and in the French style) clapped her small hands impatiently, adjusting girls that weren't perfectly in line, fussing over askew feathers or beads, clucking about time-wasting--the men would soon be finished with their drinks in the bar, and would want to move into the parlor to select their companions for the night. Rosemarie never let her impatience for the woman show, simply doing as she was asked, and chuckling about it, later. Madame went off to fetch the men, soon coming back through the curtains that separated the bar from the parlor. Directly behind her came the man Rosemarie had seen from her bedroom window.  
She recognized him, then: Butch Cavendish, the train robber, murderer, and outlaw. She'd never seen a man like him: tall, lean, with piercing, silvery-blue eyes, he commanded her attention. He was clad in black, his long, dark hair falling over his shoulders. She couldn't look away from him, barely noticing the malformation of his upper lip. He was, she thought, much more handsome in person than in his wanted poster.  
His gaze fell upon her almost instantly, and he brushed past Madame to move slowly over to Rosemarie, stopping in front of her and studying her, hungrily. He reached up to touch her cheek, sliding his fingertips down to glide slowly over her lips before taking her by the shoulders and running his hands down her arms. She was fascinated by him, attracted to him, and felt herself hoping he would choose her to be his.  
Suddenly, he gripped her upper arm, turning her roughly around towards Madame.  
"I'll take this pretty little whore, right here," Cavendish announced, holding her arm and glaring at Madame. He glanced at Rosemarie, and added, "I'll take her, all night."  
The way he phrased his request was not lost on her, and she felt a shiver of anticipation as she gazed up at him.

He'd paid Madame, and Rosemarie had taken him upstairs to her room, shutting the door behind them. He slowly backed her into a wall, studying her. She looked back at him, mesmerized. He leaned close, breathing her scent in, deeply. After a moment, he stepped away. She moved into the room to light some lamps, and he settled on the edge of her bed to watch her. It had begun to rain outside, and thunder rolled menacingly.  
"My name's Rosemarie," she told him.  
He chuckled, uncorking the whiskey he'd brought upstairs. "Is it, now?" he rasped, swigging from the bottle he'd brought with him, and shrugged. "Don't make no difference to me, darlin."  
She smiled demurely. "Well, I know *your* name. I thought it would be nice if you knew mine."  
He stared at her for a moment, then held the whiskey out. "Why don't you have a drink of this," he told her, "and save the conversation for the church social?"  
She took the bottle, and drank deeply, holding onto it while Cavendish took off his hat, boots, and coat, loosening his gunbelt and hanging it on the bed post.  
"This your first time?" he asked, idly, unbuttoning his vest.  
"Yes, sir."  
He rose, and took hold of her chin, glaring at her. Rosemarie froze, noticing the rattler's tail tied into his long hair.  
"You lyin to me, I'll know," he told her, gruffly.  
"Well... it's my first time with *you*, isn't it?" she said.  
He gave a crooked, chilling smile, his silver tooth glinting, as he watched her, and she returned it, sweetly. He let his hand fall away, and sat back down, taking the bottle from her and having another swig from his whiskey.  
"So, Rosemarie," he said, with a mocking chuckle, "what are we gonna do?"  
She smiled. "Well, among the many services offered here," she began, unlacing her corset, "are baths." She gestured towards the tub by the window. "If you'd like one, I'd be happy to help wash you," she added, smiling as she let her corset fall, standing in only her stockings and slip.  
Cavendish looked at her, incredulous, corking the bottle and setting it down. She saw his gaze travel over her, from her face, to her breasts, lower, then back up.  
"I know how to wash myself, darlin," he told her, rising from the bed, making his way to her. He stood in front of her, looking at her, then gripped her waist, pulling her against him. "But, maybe while I do, you give me a show, hm?" He smiled his crooked smile at her. "Touch yourself," he growled, letting his glance travel over her, again. "Show me how you want it."  
Rosemarie looked at him for a moment. Then she leaned her face to his, and brought her lips to his, kissing him deeply, pressing her hands against his chest. He tasted of blood and whiskey, and the heat from his mouth, his body against hers, was overwhelming.  
Momentarily caught off guard, he regained his composure, grabbing her arms, opening his mouth to hers, kissing her in return. "Do it," he murmured against her lips. "I want to see..."  
"Not until you get in the bath," she whispered, reaching to open his shirt, touching his chest, and kissing him, again, and then stepped back, looking at him. He looked back at her, glaring in frustration, and, seeing his reluctance, she slipped out of her remaining clothes.  
She watched his gaze move over her, smiling. "I showed you mine..." she murmured, and reached to his trousers.  
His hands covered hers, bringing them up to his chest, and he kissed her, Rosemarie eager to return it. He took hold of her hips, pulling her close as she ran her hands over his skin, smooth but for the raised scars from fights she couldn't begin to know, tracing her fingers over them before she opened the remaining buttons, as he shrugged off his suspenders She opened her mouth to his as she pushed his shirt open, and down over his arms. She was surprised by his strength, feeling the tense, hard muscles of his limbs.  
Cavendish backed her to the foot of the bed, and pushed her down, hard. There was something animalistic in the way he gazed at her, and for the first time, she was afraid of him.  
"You do what I told you to do," he told her, his deep voice rough with lust. "Let me see what you like."  
Rosemarie sat up, not daring to look away from him, and reached forward to tug at his trousers. Then she smiled, and lay back, drawing one of her legs up along the other. He smiled slightly, and let the garment fall, stepping out of it. She watched him appreciatively as he lowered himself into the tub across from the bed. He looked at her expectantly, and she smiled at him, smoothing her palm down her stomach, over her thigh. She could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her as she teased her touch along her inner thigh, moving her other hand up, letting her finger trail over her lips, then into her mouth. Her hand traveled up from her thighs to cover her breast, kneading, squeezing. She rolled her stiff nipple under her fingers, and tugged it between finger and thumb, her eyes closing, her breath coming in short sighs.  
She heard the water move, and looked over. Cavendish was at the edge of the tub, gripping the sides. He was watching her intently, his lips parted, and she could hear his slow, deep breathing. Rosemarie met his eyes, sucking slowly on her fingertip, then drawing it wetly from her lips. She spread her legs as she brought her hand down to her folds, and brushed her wet finger slowly over the nub within. She could tell he was aroused by her actions, and it made her want him, yearn for him, but she daren't stop until he commanded her. Her fingers teased slowly over her mound, sliding one slowly into her wetness. Her head leaned back into the pillow, her eyes fell shut, and she sighed, arching her hips, wondering when he would join her on the bed.  
Just then, she heard the water sloshing in the tub, and saw him reaching for the linen nearby, standing and drying himself, his gaze never leaving her. She looked over him, apprehensive as she took note of how well-endowed he was.  
He stepped out of the tub, dropping the cloth, and approached the bed. "You nice and wet for me, darlin?" he asked, his voice low.  
"Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready for you. I want you, Butch."  
"Do you?" he mused with a slight smile, watching her and licking his lips. He sat on the edge of the bed, between her open legs. He took her hand from between her thighs, and leaned down, taking her wet finger in his mouth, looking at her as he sucked it clean. Rosemarie shivered, her cheeks hot with lust. She went through the motions with the other customers she'd had, but she was beside herself with desire for Cavendish, wanting him more than she'd ever wanted anyone.  
He let go of her hand, gazing at her. "How many men you had?"  
"Not many..."  
He gripped her wrist, tightly. "How many?" he repeated, his voice rough.  
"Two," she gasped, "just two."  
He let go of her, and smiled. "Well, you're about to forget 'em," he drawled. He kissed her hard, sucking her lower lip, and moved down along her neck. She felt his teeth graze against her throat, and gasped in delight. She heard his deep chuckle as his hand covered her breast, thumbing the hard nipple as he ran the tip of his tongue over her ear. He moved down over her, sucking at her breast, his fingers twisting at the other nipple. She was panting, her hands moving over his back, tangling into his long hair. She felt his teeth graze sharply over her hard nipple, and she groaned.  
Cavendish moved away slowly, kissing down her belly, biting into the skin at her hipbone.  
Thunder cracked loudly outside as the storm raged on, and a flash of lightening illuminated the room, so she could see his head as it settled between her open thighs. She felt the warm slick of his tongue over her, and whimpered as he slid it over her again, two fingers sliding into her wet passage. Rosemarie let her legs fall open, feeling his hand grip her thigh. She'd never experienced anything like this--no one had ever made her feel so wanton, or given her such exquisite pleasure. She felt her lust growing, her pleasure rising to a hot peak. Her legs trembled, and her breath came fast. She gasped aloud as the pressure broke, hot and tight and deep, crying out and reaching to the back of his head as her thighs closed around him, feels his sideburns against her skin. She'd pleasured herself, but she'd never felt like this before--no one else had ever bothered.  
He was kissing up her thigh and hip, chuckling softly. "God*damn*, but you're gettin me hot," he growled against her. He sat up, looking down over her as he licked his lips, stroking a rough palm over her thigh as he studied her. "Ain't no one ever made you come, before?" he asked.  
She shook her head 'no', feeling like she was floating, trying to catch her breath. He chuckled.  
"Damn shame," he muttered. "It's a sight to behold."  
She smiled, feeling euphoric. He moved over her, and kissed her, her scent still on his lips. She wound her arms around him and returned it eagerly, until Cavendish moved back, pulling her up. He kissed her again, nudging her lips open with his tongue. As they kissed, he took her hand, guiding it down to his member. She gripped him, stroking her fingers over his rigid length, and he groaned into the kiss. He lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him, and Rosemarie lay over him, straddling his waist.  
He grinned, taking hold of her hips. "You want it?" he teased, and reached to slap her ass.  
She gasped, and kissed him. "I want it. Please."  
That hungry look passed again over his twisted features, and he gripped her waist, staring at her like a feral animal. "If you want somethin, darlin, you gotta *take* it."  
She licked her lips, almost nervous, despite her desire for him. He watched her intently as she positioned herself, and lowering onto him. She gasped at his size as she took him slowly inside of her, the momentary pain as she adjusted to him slowly fading. He held onto her hips, his eyes closing briefly, groaning softly. She held onto his shoulders, wondering if she'd be able to handle him. He drove up into her, slowly, and she thought she'd cry, it felt so good. She met his slow thrusts, moaning softly.  
He looked up at her, the blaze of his blue eyes visible in the dim light and occasional lightening. "That's it," he groaned, his hands holding tight at her hips. "Ride me, darlin," he rumbled, gazing up at her. "*Ride* me."  
Lightning blazed behind her, and thunder rolled as they moved together, Rosemarie gasping in pleasure, watching him as he watched her. He sat up under her, and she took hold of his shoulders, winding her legs around him. It was warm in the room, from the bathtub, from their bodies so close. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck, as she leaned her head back, and he bent his head to catch it with his tongue. She felt that delicious pressure rising within her, and kept moving over him. She heard herself whimper as she grew close to release, driving herself down onto him.  
"More," she whispered, "I want all of you."  
Cavendish looked at her and smiled slightly, thrusting deeper, harder. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders. She cried out, gasping and panting as she went over the edge again. As her pleasure subsided he pushed her onto her back, and drove into her mercilessly. She let her legs wind around him, running her hands over his back, doing her best to meet his thrusts. With a final hard buck of his hips into hers, he gave a deep, gravelly moan, swearing as he finished.  
They gazed at each other, both trying to catch their breath. He leaned down to kiss her, passionately, then withdrew from her, leaving her thighs slick. Her hands fell from his shoulders, and he took one, looking at it. She'd drawn blood as she'd scratched at his shoulders and back. Cavendish drew her fingers into his mouth, and cleaned the blood from them, watching her as he did. He moved away from her, and went to her washstand, taking a cloth and dipping it into the water in the basin. Wringing it out, he tossed it to her.  
"Clean yourself up," he told her, taking another cloth and wetting it to do the same. "I'm not done with you, yet."  
In a pleasantly dazed fog, Rosemarie took the cloth, and did as he bade, running the rag between her legs. She dropped it beside the bed and sat up, turning to lay against the pillows at the head of her bed, watching him. Cavendish came back to bed, settling against the pillows. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, and had a swig, then offered it to her.  
"Better sleep while you can," he told her, his voice soft. "You're mine for the night."  
She took the bottle, and drank, her hand shaking slightly as she gave it back to him. He took another drink, looking at her, then corked the bottle, and set it aside. He moved close, and took a handful of her hair, pulling her face to his. He kissed her deeply, and Rosemarie reached up, touching his face as she returned it. He drew away, and studied her for a long moment. Then he pulled down the covers, and settled into bed. She did the same, pulling the sheets up over her. Thunder boomed outside, though the rain had let up a little, and she somehow dared to curl herself against him, resting her head on his chest. She felt him stiffen, then, slowly, relax, letting his arm wrap loosely around her shoulder. With a satisfied smile, she let herself drift off to sleep.

Thunder boomed outside the window, and Rosemarie woke with a gasp. She lay still, catching her breath as her heart pounded. She'd rolled over onto her side in her sleep, and felt Cavendish stirring beside her.  
"I was wondering when you'd wake up," he murmured, shifting close to her, and she could feel him, thick and hard against her. "I'm ready for you."  
His hand moved to her hip, sliding down her thigh. He slapped her ass, hard, and she gasped sharply, hearing him chuckle. He reached down between her legs, and her breath caught when his fingers slid over her.  
"You ready for more?" he asked, his voice a low husk against her ear.  
She almost couldn't answer. His touch on her was maddening, arousing what had been earlier satisfied.  
"Answer me, darlin," he said, and there was a warning in the tone of his voice.  
"Yes," she whispered, begging. "Please, I want you."  
She felt him guiding himself into her, still wet from before. Rosemarie cried out in pain and pleasure, tender from their earlier efforts. He grabbed the hair at her nape, tugging her head back and biting lightly at her neck and ear, kissing her jaw as he drove into her. She pushed herself back to meet his thrusts, groaning, her fingers tumbling down to stroke herself.  
He let go of her hair, and let his hand fall to her breasts, teasing her nipples. Cavendish took hold of her hip and moved into her, Rosemarie meeting his rhythm, her hand over his. She cried out as she came, her hips bucking.  
He slipped away from her, pushing her onto her back and sliding back into her. She clutched him, pulling him to her, kissing his jaw as she wound her legs around his hips. She groaned as he fucked into her, deep and hard, and bit at his throat, harder than she meant to.  
Cavendish gripped her wrists, driving into her, and she tried not to cry out in pain. He bucked into her, stiffening, and moaned her name as he finished.  
Rosemarie took a deep breath as he moved away, sighing. She let her eyes close as she came back to her surroundings, hearing the rain still falling outside, feeling the mattress shift beside her as Cavendish rose. She watched him as he went to the window and looked out.  
"Comin down like a son of a bitch," he observed. He let the curtain fall as he turned to look at her. "Might have to stay longer than I thought." He smiled at her.  
She smiled back wanly, feeling tired and sore. She was deeply attracted to him, and wanted him--but, he was insatiable. She'd never been with a man who was able to go more than once in a few hours--especially not one who was so... gifted.  
He chuckled, sensing her lack of immediate enthusiasm. "Don't worry, darlin. Next time, I'll go easy on you."  
She noticed the mark on his neck as he came back to bed, and wondered what would happen when he noticed the small wound she'd made. She hadn't meant to bite so hard...  
As she was looking, he felt the blood trickle down along his neck, and reached up to press his fingers against the cut. He looked at her, sharply.  
"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to..."  
"You're a damned hellcat, ain't you?" he chuckled. "Always the quiet ones," he added, settling back onto the bed. He looked at the blood on his fingers, and slowly licked it away, watching her. He pulled her against him, and kissed her deeply, hungrily, their mouths open--Rosemarie could taste the blood on his tongue.  
She moved away, sucking his lower lip as she did, and looked at him, marveling once more over her attraction to him. Even now, she wanted him, despite her fatigue and pain.  
He looked at her, and touched her face. "Why don't you go back to sleep for a while," he said. "I'll be waiting for you, when you want it."  
She smiled demurely, and kissed him again, then laid back down. She felt him settle beside her, and was soon asleep.

When she woke a little later, he was watching her.  
"You ready for me?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper.  
Her lips were swollen, her breasts tender, and there was a deep, raw ache between her thighs. But she sat up, looking at him, weak with lust as she reached to him, the sheet falling away and exposing her. He went to her, and she pulled him close, kissing him. A deep, loud peal of thunder boomed outside, and she didn't know if it shook the building, or if it was her own excited trembling. He pulled her against him, and kissed her, slowly and deeply, their tongues meeting.  
"I want you," she murmured, and kissed him again. "I *need* you."  
Cavendish gripped her hands in his, and moved over her. Rosemarie looked up at him, squeezing his hands tightly.  
"Please, Butch," she breathed, beside herself with need, opening her legs around him, her thighs pressing into his hips. "*Please*."  
To her surprise, he kissed her again, softly, slowly, and she returned it, groaning. She felt him, stiff between her legs, teasing himself over her opening, and she bucked her hips up against him.  
"You want me?" he rasped into her ear.  
"Yes..." she murmured.  
He chuckled against her throat, dragging his teeth over the skin. "Say it," he whispered, "tell me you want it."  
"I want it, *goddamn* you, Butch," she cried, raking her fingernails down his back. Cavendish sank into her, and she gasped, then moaned, low, moving against his slow, deep thrusts. Her fingers twisted into his long hair, stroking as he fucked slowly into her, and she gasped. He chuckled, soft and low, at her urgency, drawing himself slowly out of her before plunging back in. He did this again, and again, watching her meet his thrusts, before he drew away.  
With a frustrated growl, Rosemarie sat up, and pushed him onto his back, mounting him. Cavendish gripped her hips and watched her, pulling her onto him as she moved urgently over him. He gazed at her, looking her up and down as she rode him. After a moment, he sat up beneath her, and she wound her legs around him. He kissed her throat as he let her fuck herself on his thick member, nipping at her neck. When his teeth came together hard over her skin, she gasped, ecstatic, feeling the sharp sweetness of the pain. With a moan, her hips bucked, and she rocked over him as the pleasure of release overcame her.  
Rosemarie fell limp against him, and let him push her onto her back. Her thighs fell open, and he settled between them, his cock slipping easily back inside of her. She held onto him as he moved into her, gasping aloud, whispering to him how much she loved the way he fucked her, how good he felt inside of her. Cavendish growled low, thrusting deeper, harder, and groaned aloud as he released.  
He lay over her, panting, and looked at her. He kissed her, then leaned down to suck and lick at her neck, before moving away from her and sitting up.  
She noticed the blood on his lips, and her hand went to her neck.  
He smiled. "It's only fair," he whispered, touching the small wound at his own throat.  
Rosemarie touched the mark at her neck, dazed, then pulled him into a kiss. He returned it, holding her close, then broke away, glancing at her, before turning to the window. She followed his gaze, realizing that daybreak was approaching and the storm had passed, leaving only a gentle rain.  
He began to gather his clothes, moving around the room without looking at her. She watched him, feeling resigned, sad. She rose from the bed and went to fetch a robe from a hook in the wall, wrapping herself in it as she watched him dress.  
Cavendish pulled on his boots, and reached to the table for the whiskey, taking a deep drink before setting the bottle down and pulling his gunbelt from the bed post where he'd left it.  
"Take me with you," she whispered. "Please."  
He glanced at her, studying her as he wound the gunbelt around his hips.  
"Can't," he said, finally. "Too many men--can't keep you to myself. Can't shoot all of 'em," he added, smiling. The smile faded, his hard gaze almost wistful. "You still around here in a while, I'll remember you. I'll want you, again."  
She nodded, unhappy, but smiled as she clutched his coat. "And, I'll want you," she told him.  
She kissed him hard, grabbing his face in her hands, clutching at his shoulders.  
She watched him turn to go. Before she knew what she was saying, the words had left her mouth: "I love you."  
He stopped, and turned back to face her her. He looked at her, and his eyes narrowed, even as his lips curled into a slight smirk.  
She gasped. "I--I'm in love with..." she began, and fell silent.  
Cavendish moved slowly towards her, never taking his eyes off her. Rosemarie felt her breath and heartbeat quicken, though whether they did so from excitement or terror, she wasn't sure.  
The man stopped just in front of her, gazing at her. Then he reached into his coat, pulling a large, long knife from its sheath.  
She fought not to gasp, or move, even though her instinct was to do both. As she watched him, he reached to trace the back of his left hand lightly along the side of her face. As he did, he brought the knife up close, near her throat.  
He leaned in to her, and kissed her deeply, winding his fingers into a lock of her long hair. She relaxed a little, pressing her hands against his chest as she returned the kiss.  
There was a little tug at her hair, and Rosemarie involuntarily stepped away, breaking the kiss with a gasp as she looked at him. Butch smiled slightly at her as he brought the detached lock of her hair up, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent, deeply. With one last, long look at her, he sheathed his knife, and turned away.  
Rosemarie watched him leave, keeping him in her sight until the bedroom door shut behind him. Her hand went to the place where he'd cut off her hair, stroking the shorter strands, before she turned and went to her window.  
She was still there as Cavendish strode out of the house in the light morning rain, his men gathered around, one of them holding his horse. He mounted the animal, glancing briefly up to her window as he did. Then, with an exclamation, he spurred his steed, and took off, his men not far behind.  
Rosemarie watched him ride away, until he'd disappeared over the horizon. Then, slowly, she drew the curtains over the window, and went to her bed, picking up the bottle of whiskey from where he'd left it. She pulled the covers over herself as she settled beneath them, breathing in his scent on the sheets. Uncorking the bottle, she took a long, deep drink, before placing it on her bedside table, and pulled the bedding over herself. She rolled onto her side, wondering if she'd ever see him again as she fell asleep.


End file.
